


Sacred Grounds

by missydogblog



Category: Schitt’s Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Falling In Love, M/M, Patrick is the groundskeeper for the Rose estate, Possible Slow burn, Very colorful language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missydogblog/pseuds/missydogblog
Summary: The Rose estate’s groundskeeper is perhaps the most infuriating person David has ever met.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 8
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy my very first Schitt’s Creek fic! I’m just happy to be here

It was cold in New York, this time of year. It was cold in New York in most times of the year, but especially this one. It was cold, and it was dark, and Keaton Mitchells was breaking up with him.

David was on his balcony, resisting the temptation to send his phone sailing over the railing while he watched the three little dots dance next to the “K” of Keaton’s contact icon. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it coming. Most of David’s breakups were over text these days, and he’d gotten good at recognizing the conversations that were meant to lead up to them. It didn’t mean he was pleased about it.

There had been times, plenty of times, when David had been happy to have been broken up with. In those instances it was mostly because he’d wanted to do it himself, and had been secretly hoping they would do it for him. David  _ despised _ breaking up with people, but he could tolerate being broken up with. Occasionally. God knows he should be used to it by this point.

It was cold, and David shivered in his too-thin sweatshirt and  _ refused _ to be upset. Keaton had been an asshole. (Everyone David had dated had been an asshole to some degree, and although Keaton had been on the nicer end of the spectrum, it didn’t make him an exception). There was no reason for David to be upset. He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t.

His phone buzzed in his hand.  _ And Listen. You were good. Best I’ve had, haha _

In a surge of something raw and ugly, David soundlessly brought his phone to his shoulder, placing his feet apart and his free arm up.  _ Pitcher’s stance _ , said a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his father, and David made a soft grunt as he hurled his iPhone as hard as he could into the New York darkness. He watched, detached, as his floral-patterned jelly case shrank and shrank, until he couldn’t even see it hit the other side of the street.

For a long, delicious second, David felt a soaring satisfaction that warmed his bones. 

And then, much like his phone, he felt it crash to the pavement. Why had he done that?  _ Why had he done that? _ The phone itself wasn’t a loss, it was at least two models behind and he’d been meaning to replace it anyway. But he’d left it unlocked, what if it had somehow survived the fall? Some random- some _ New York  _ random could have unobstructed access to David Rose’s phone, and David felt the blood drain from his face. What if it had hit someone? What if it had  _ killed _ someone? Could a phone even hit a lethal speed when dropped from this height? Was David prepared to be a murderer?

Without even stopping to grab a coat, David rushed out of his apartment, taking the stairs because he couldn’t stand the thought of waiting for the elevator. The stairwell seemed to go on forever, ( _ why the fuck had he insisted on living on the top floor? _ ) until suddenly he stumbled gracelessly into the lobby floor. He speed-walked outside, because David Rose would not be witnessed running, and a cold slash of wind pinched his face as he found himself on the New York streets. 

His phone was not in a pool of a stranger’s blood, nor was it in the hands of a figure dashing away into the night. The few people that passed didn’t even stop to inspect it, and when David jogged across the street he could see why. It was barely recognizable as a phone, just two halves of a floral print something peeking out from shards of electronic debris. For a while David just stared at it, and felt bile rise in his throat. His hands were shaking, he realized.

Keaton had destroyed his phone. No, that wasn’t fair, Keaton was just the latest in a line of stupid decisions presented to him by the life of a New York gallerist. 

New York had destroyed his phone. And it had taken far too many years from him, good years, years he could have spent doing something worthwhile. What the fuck was so magnanimous about owning a gallery anyway?

David wanted to scream. He wanted to kick the shattered remains of his phone into the street and watch it get crushed by the passing cars. Most of all he wanted to cry, and that was the one thing he absolutely forbade himself from doing. 

“I don’t think… I can live here anymore,” he whispered, and the heat of his words formed puffs of steam in front of his face. 

New York said nothing back.

* * *

The hillside estate was exactly as he had remembered it, gaudy and tacky and stupidly enormous. David’s parents hadn’t asked too many questions when he’d said he wanted to move back for a while, and he wasn’t exactly sure if that was a good thing. There really was no good option, he supposed, he didn’t really feel up to formulating answers when he himself hardly knew what was wrong. Still, if they had been a bit curious, it might have felt more like they were worried, and less like they’d been… expecting this.

It was early (well, early for David) when he stepped out of one of his father’s town cars, and looked up at the towering doors that sealed his family home. “Welcome home, Mr. Rose!” called the driver, before pulling away and leaving David on the curb. 

No one came to greet him once he let himself in, and he paused in the foyer, straining to hear any sounds of life within the house. “Mom? Dad?” He called, then after a beat, added “Sonja?” because the head of housekeeping was, out of the three, the most likely to be home. But no voice answered his own, and David sighed and resigned himself to heaving his rolling travel case up a flight of stairs. 

His room was untouched and immaculate, and David felt something inside him settle, like kicked-up gravel at the bottom of a pond. He breathed, and it felt easy, and he hadn’t even realized it had been difficult until then. And not just because he’d lugged himself and a suitcase up a flight of stairs.

There was nothing for David to do; the rest of his things wouldn’t be shipped until that evening, which left him at least six hours of being bored and alone in his parents’ fuck-off huge estate. The thought made him groan as he flopped onto his Egyptian cotton sheets, digging the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. Almost habitually, he checked his new phone for notifications, and began to idly scroll Twitter when he found nothing of interest. There weren’t really any fun new features he could dick around with besides a slightly nicer camera and better memory, and he’d managed to get the same case he’d had before for the new model. He could imagine very easily that it was the same phone, if he wanted to. Part of him did.

Another part of him, a quiet, romantic part, felt that a new start might be just what he needed. He was still rich, after all, he could do whatever he wanted. He could move to the French Alps. He could take up artisanal beekeeping. He could learn to figure skate like he’d always wanted to, but had always been too discouraged by the inevitable failure. If this new David was someone unhinged enough to launch his phone off a balcony, maybe he was brave enough to endure a fuck-up every now and then.

His gut twinged sharply. Maybe he should start smaller.

With an odd sort of vigor David lurched to his feet, striding decisively out the door and down the stairs. He wasn’t really sure where he was going, but maybe if he walked confidently enough he’d come up with something along the way. His artfully distressed high-tops took him down the corridor and straight to the back doors, and he watched himself swing them open perhaps harder than strictly necessary. 

The sun shone in his eyes, and he squinted uncomfortably (he didn’t like squinting, it would give him wrinkles). He could be outside. New David could be someone that went outside. The sun was supposed to be good for the skin, and tanning was expensive and boring. Outside was… fine. It was fine. What was he doing again?

Despite none of them having a particular affinity for natural beauty, the Rose family had found it necessary to invest in a sprawling, intricate garden; complete with winding stone walkways and a few tasteful fountains. The estate’s backyard went on for acres, with a thick line of tall trees around the perimeter shielding the inside from any nosy passersby. There was also an iron fence, for the more persistent passersby, but it more or less blended in with the trees. 

The carefully manicured swimming pool caught David’s eye, and he considered it for a long moment before ultimately deciding against sinking into it. It was far too late in the season, and what kind of pervert went swimming by themselves? Granted, strolling through a garden by himself wasn’t much better, but at least then he could keep all his clothes on.

Confident stride now reduced to an aimless amble, David followed the path to wherever it decided to lead him, although he was cultured enough to know the journey was more important than the destination. Tall, leafy bushes swallowed him on all sides, and bright patches of flowers stood out nicely against the rich green backdrop. David knew next to nothing about botany, and couldn’t confidently name a single plant in the entire enclosure, but he knew which ones he liked. The fiery orange flower with long, elegant petals. Some kind of flower that wasn’t much to look at itself, but had wide, spotted leaves that added a nice texture to the display. David was a gallerist; he knew what looked good with what and he was quietly relieved that the skill had not suddenly left him. 

David had expected to feel awkward, but this was familiar ground, he realized. Appreciating and critiquing visual arrangements was precisely what he enjoyed doing, and he allowed himself to relax as he continued along the path, nodding respectfully at what he found correct, and pursing his lips at what he didn’t. A great deal of it was incorrect, actually, and he wondered how he had gone for so long letting this spectacle be attached to the family image. This would have to be remedied at some point, he decided.

And then he yelped, because suddenly someone else was in the garden with him.

“Jesus Christ. You scared the shit out of me.” Clutching the front of his Givenchy sweater and looking appropriately startled, David cast a wary look at the stranger in front of him. He was wearing unflattering jeans and a plain white t-shirt, and looked about as surprised as David felt. He was holding a clipboard, which for some reason David decided was the most offensive part of his ensemble. And that was saying something, because he was also wearing a windbreaker with the Rose family crest on the breast pocket.

“Um, this is private property,” the man said, giving David an obvious once-over. “Do you have permission to be here?”

Scoffing, David crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one side. “Yeah, I would say so. I live here.”

The man blinked, and then recognition flashed across his face. “You’re David Rose.”

Those three words had been said to David more times than he could count, but for some reason the man said them in a way he couldn’t remember hearing before. Like he was stating a simple fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green. You’re David Rose.

“Last time I checked. Are you new?”

“No,” the man replied simply. And then he smiled. “I’m Patrick.” He held his hand out, and he had to tuck the clipboard under one arm to do so. Swallowing hard, David took his hand, and found it surprisingly rough.

“You have a clipboard,” David blurted, and immediately wanted to die.

Patrick smiled wider, pulling his clipboard out and tossing it between his hands. “They’re very in this season. I like to stay on trend.”

David snorted. “Says the man in mid-range denim.”

Cocking his head but keeping his smile, Patrick asked, “Can I help you with something? Usually the only roses that grace this place are of the flower variety, and they stopped blooming a couple weeks ago.”

“Is there something wrong with taking a stroll through your own garden? Which, I might add, is terribly off-brand.”

Patrick’s smile fell a bit, but in a considerate way, not with displeasure. “Should I ask what you mean by that?”

“That depends entirely on your role in this whole-“ he made a vague, all-encompassing gesture. “Vision. And whatever it is you’re doing with your little clipboard.”

Said clipboard came up to tap against Patrick’s lips. Patrick had a nice mouth, David realized. Especially when he smiled. “Well, I’m the groundskeeper,” he said. “If that answers your question. I’m making sure everything’s been watered.” Turning the clipboard around, David was faced with a  _ spreadsheet _ , and he felt himself physically recoil.

“Oh God,” he whispered, and Patrick looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “Well, who decides how the plants are arranged?”

“That would be me.”

David nodded, pressing his lips together. “Mm. That makes a lot of sense, to me.”

“Is there something wrong with the way the plants are arranged? Your parents have never complained.”

“Mkay, my  _ parents _ wouldn’t know taste if it fucked them up the ass.” David closed his eyes, and prayed for the sun to burn him to death. “And that is. Something I just said to you. Yeah.”

Patrick’s lower lip jutted out, and he looked confused. “Said what to me? I didn’t hear anything. Certainly nothing about my employers,” he said, and David decided he liked him.

Feeling a smile tugging dangerously at the corners of his lips, David shook his head in a dramatic circle. “The  _ point _ is it’s… flawed. And they probably don’t even come out here often enough to know that.”

“The fact that they never come out here is precisely why I don’t worry myself too much with details,” Patrick said dryly. “It looks nice from the windows, and that seems to be enough for them.”

“Well, it’s not enough for  _ me _ .” 

Patrick’s head nodded gravely, and David got the impression he was being made fun of. “Understood. I will take it up with Mr. Rose the next time I see him. Tell him the garden is… flawed.” 

David made a face. “Right. Do we- do we have to tell him?”

If Patrick was trying not to look amused, he was doing a very poor job. “Well, we’d have to hire someone, since obviously my own stylistic decisions are not up to par. And generally I have to ask before spending your dad’s money.”

“That’d be a first for me,” David muttered, and was rewarded with a snort from Patrick. “It’s just that I’m not sure how much I trust someone else to implement the vision I have in my head, especially whoever you or my father would think to employ.”

“Oh, you have a vision!” Patrick said cheerily. “In that case, I’m sure your dad would be happy to hire you for the position.”

The thought of working for his father, under any circumstances, was enough to make him gag. “Uh, right. Let’s just consider this pro-bono; I’m a very generous person.”

“I don’t doubt it, David.” Patrick’s smile was bright and strangely sincere, like he and David were old friends catching up over coffee. David decided he liked having that smile directed at him. “I’ll still have to run any major changes by Mr. Rose, though. I’m still his employee.”

David’s head dipped back as he groaned “ _ Ugh _ ” to the sky. “Fine. I will talk to him. Um. But one thing.” He leaned in conspiratorially, and Patrick raised his eyebrows. “ _ If _ I decide to do some… botanical design. Will that mean I’ll have to, ah, touch the plants? An the dirt, and bugs and whatnot?”

Placing a somber hand on his shoulder, Patrick shook his head. “I would be happy to take care of the planting, David. All you’d have to do is come up with a plan.”

“Oh thank God.”

“Now, I actually have to get going, but if you need me I’m sure you can ask your dad to ring my pager.” Dramatically, Patrick whipped the edge of his windbreaker back to reveal the device clipped to his belt.

“Your pager!” David grinned maniacally, his voice reaching a shrill staccato it only hit when he was well and truly horrified.

Patrick laughed, full and bright, and he quickly disappeared into the ocean of green once he rounded the corner. David watched the space he had just been in, twisting his mouth to the side and wondering what it would take to hear that laugh again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue heavy chapter, hope that’s cool with everybody

Dinner that evening was roasted potatoes and duck confit. It wasn’t David’s favorite, but his parents reportedly thought it was, so that probably counted for something.

Johnny Rose was perfectly genial about his son’s homecoming, and reiterated that he was more than welcome to stay for as long as he liked. Moira muttered something undoubtedly condescending into her wineglass, and David ignored both it and the look his father shot her across the table. Inquiries about New York and the gallery were met with either short replies or a shrug, and his parents took the hint and stopped asking. Instead they talked about Johnny’s investor meeting, and Moira’s upcoming commercial for sciatica medication. 

“So,” David said after a long, awkward lull. “I was introduced to Patrick this morning.”

Johnny’s severe eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Patrick Brewer?”

“I don’t know his last name. He had a clipboard and fugly jeans.”

“Yes, Patrick is the groundskeeper. What about him?”

David shook his head, picking absently and the herbs on his potatoes. “Nothing. He just seemed nice, is all.” He wasn’t sure how he would go about bringing up the garden. Johnny Rose could smell sincerity like blood in open water, and the last thing David needed was his father getting…  _ involved _ . The garden thing was just a project, something to keep him occupied while he figured out where he would go from here. His mother loved projects; she would call it  _ cute _ . That was somehow worse.

“You know, son.” To David’s horror, his father set his fork down and folded his hands together, looking at him with an expression that made David nauseous. “I realize Patrick is a fine young man, but he’s been an exemplary employee these past few years. I think it would be for the best if you didn’t…” he made a gesture David didn’t want to know  _ what _ was trying to convey.

The clattering of David’s fork hitting the china rang out sharply in the following silence. “You don’t want me to scare him off,” he said coldly, crossing his arms in front of him.

“It’s just that I don’t want to have to replace him if he decides to quit. Which he might, if things between you…”

“What?” David demanded. “If things between us  _ what _ ?”

“Oh David,” his mother cut in, and met his glare cooly. “You can’t blame your father for being concerned. Do you know how many tutors we had to go through to find one you wouldn’t beguile?”

“That was fifteen years ago!” 

“Well your track record as of late isn’t exactly contrary. Things with that Kenneth fellow ended so poorly you had to flee the country.”

“Moira,” Johnny warned, but David’s chair was already crashing to the ground from the force of him shooting to his feet. 

“Not to worry!” he cried, throwing his napkin on the table and being disappointed it didn’t make a noise. “I’ll be sure to steer clear of your precious Patrick. Wouldn’t want him to be corrupted by your whore of a son!”

“David.”

“Son, sit down, please.” But the tone of their voices said enough. They didn’t expect him to stay.

Stomping out of the dining room, David beelined to the liquor cabinet and grabbed the most expensive bottle he could spot at a glance. He didn’t really like whiskey, but his father did, and any amount of pleasure he could deny him would be more than enough for him. He twisted open the seal with a grunt, and then, like the dignified socialite that he was, retreated to his bedroom and slammed the door.

His first instinct was to text Alexis.  _ Hey for real fuck dad _ , he typed out, before remembering she was in Istanbul and probably asleep. The whiskey burned as he took a hearty swig from the bottle, but it warmed his insides delightfully.

_ Getting hammered on a Tuesday _ , he told Twitter, along with a selfie with the bottle. It wasn’t like he was going to drink stupidly expensive booze without at least getting some clout out of it. Queuing up season 5 of Downton Abbey, David draped himself dramatically across his couch and took another swig. 

Some time after the whiskey stopped burning and a countess got pregnant for the third time, David had the brilliant and incredible idea of sleeping with Patrick.

David thought he would very much like to sleep with Patrick. He was cute in a daytime television sort of way, and obviously thought David was tolerable enough to be around since he’d suggested working together in the future. If it went well, David would have a nice new boytoy, and could declare himself officially over his little outburst in New York. If it went poorly Patrick would leave, and his dad would be pissed. Either way David came out the victor.

“Clear hearts, full eyes, can’t lose!” David giggled, rolling off the couch and stumbling to his feet.

David had no idea what time it was. He also had no idea what hours Patrick worked, or where he would be even if he was working. All he knew was that he ended up outside, bottle in hand, hot and ready for some righteous persuasion. He began to hum a little song, something sexy and upbeat to get himself in the mood. He walked a lap around the swimming pool, coming very close to falling in more than once. He wandered through the garden, calling Patrick’s name at random intervals like he was a lost dog. Lastly he marched around to the front of the house, belting Celine Dion and trying to remember exactly why he came out here to begin with.

That is, until he spotted Patrick, and cut himself off with a squeak.

“Hi David.” Patrick was perched on top of a ladder, smiling down at him with a lightbulb in his hand. “I like that song. You’re a good singer.”

Blinking owlishly, David nodded and shook his head at the same time. “I know, thank you. Um. What are you- what are you doing?”

“I’ll give you three guesses.” Patrick’s hands were precise and careful as he unscrewed the bulb currently placed beneath the second story balcony. “I’m thinking about investing in nicer lightbulbs. These ones go out way too quickly.”

“Mm. Riveting,” David murmured, keeping his eyes trained on Patrick’s hands.

“Can I help you with something? You seem like you’re… having a fun night.” He gestured to the mostly-empty bottle in David’s hand. 

“Nnno. I mean, yes! I mean,” he cleared his throat, holding the bottle up and wiggling it a bit. “Do you want to come up to my room?” 

Patrick’s brow furrowed a bit, and he hesitated before screwing the new bulb into the fixture. “Drinking on the job is generally frowned upon, David.”

David’s limbs felt loose, but he tried to pose them in a way he hoped conveyed nonchalance. “When do you get off, then?”

“Technically an hour ago, but I had a few things I wanted to get done before I went home.” He paused, leaning forward a bit and squinting. “Are you okay?”

“Fine!” He chirped, much louder than he’d meant to. “But I’d be much better if you came to my room with me.”

When they were both quiet, David could hear the sounds of crickets, and he was suddenly very worried about the prospect of moths. There was a reason he didn’t go outside at night.

“Alright,” said Patrick, beginning his cautious descent to the ground. Everything Patrick did was careful, David noticed, which is why the simple reply caught him somewhat off-guard. 

“Oh. Good. That’s, that’s good.” His heart was racing suddenly, and he put a hand on his stomach to keep it from turning.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Patrick said once he reached the ground, setting the spent lightbulb in the bushes, presumably to deal with later.

_ Just fine, the faster we can get you out of your stupid Wranglers the better, _ is what David had meant to say. Instead he giggled, and made a face. “My dad is an asshole.”

The vague amusement on Patrick’s face softened a bit, and he gently took the whiskey bottle from David’s hand. He whistled low as he inspected the label. “He must be some prick, I think this bottle costs more than my car.”

“He  _ thinks _ ,” David insisted, leaning close and jabbing Patrick in the shoulder. “That just because I like men and women, that I’m some- some-“ he waved his hands around, like he could catch the words he was looking for like an errant fruit fly. “Mindless, insatiable fuck-machine.”

Patrick blinked at him, then tilted his head with an unreadable expression. “I’m sorry, David. That wasn’t fair of him.”

“No it wasn’t!” He swayed far enough that Patrick had to put a hand on his bicep to steady him. “He called you an  _ exemplary employee _ ,” he spat, like he was saying  _ two-faced snake _ . 

“Wow. That bastard. Let’s get you inside, hm? It’s cold out here.”

“Why did I decide to live with my family, of all people,” he groaned, allowing himself to be led by the elbow towards the front entrance. Patrick’s hand was warm and steadying, and he walked slow enough for David’s stumbling feet to keep up. 

David hadn’t realized just how cold he was until Patrick ushered him inside, and he closed his eyes against the warm embrace of modern heating. “Hi Sonja,” he heard Patrick say, and he opened his eyes to see the head of housekeeping coming down the stairs.

“Patrick, you should really stop working so late. It’s not good for your health.”

“I get paid by the hour.” Patrick shrugged, nudging David forward a bit. “Do you think you could make sure David gets to his room and drinks some water? I’m pretty sure this bottle was full when he got to it.” He held up David’s drink of choice for emphasis, and Sonja looked unimpressed.

“I’m supposed to take care of the house, not the people in it,” she said, but not unkindly.

“Consider it a favor to me, then,” Patrick said with a smile. Sonja just rolled her eyes, tucking her hand under David’s arm and leading him towards the stairs. 

“I thought you were coming with me,” David complained over his shoulder, and even to his own ears it sounded like a whine.

“Patrick needs his rest.” Sonja swatted his shoulder. “And so do you. You can barely stand.” David  _ hmph _ -ed, but didn’t protest further.

“Goodnight guys. Sonja, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight Patrick,” Sonja called. David didn’t turn around.

The ascent up the stairs was treacherous and embarrassing, and David came very close to climbing on all fours just to avoid slipping and bashing his head open. Sonja was silent and patient, and surprisingly strong whenever she needed to catch him. “Sorry about this,” David slurred after shoulder-checking Sonja for the third time.

“I’m sure you can make it up to me, Mr. Rose.” She smiled wryly. “You can start by being careful with Patrick.”

“Why does everyone think I’m going to ruin Patrick!” David barely held himself back from stomping in frustration. “I am perfectly capable of having healthy, platonic relationships with people!”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, David, please lower your voice.” Angry and drunk and the slightest bit hysterical, David turned the full force of his glare to Sonja, who merely raised an eyebrow in response. “Let me put it this way. I have been your family’s housekeeper since you were a baby, and I have seen the people you choose to surround yourself with. What I am saying to you is that Patrick is not like those people. That is all.”

David pouted at the floor, counting the stairs until he saw double. “I just wanted to redesign the garden,” he whispered. “He said I could. I just wanted something to do.” 

It was silent for a while. “So you’re not trying to sleep with him.” Sonja said, and David wasn’t sure if it was a question.

“Okay, well. I may have tried to seduce him, but that was just ‘coz I was trying to piss off my dad. Luckily for both of you, Patrick isn’t interested in me.” David didn’t look at her when he said this, and was startled by the resulting laughter that came from beside him.

“You’re a funny boy, David Rose. Let’s get you to bed so I can go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> My twitter, tumblr and Instagram are all @striderepiphany. Come say hi!


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